


Painkillers

by McKayUndercover



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23735515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McKayUndercover/pseuds/McKayUndercover
Summary: Years after Paris, Miranda finds herself involved in a complicated charade of her own making. All she wanted was a little relief, yet she seemed to have gotten in way over her head.Or the one where Miranda finally finds the medicine to cure her pressing ailments, and that medicine has brown eyes and long skillful fingers.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 59
Kudos: 392
Collections: 5sk





	Painkillers

**Author's Note:**

> The "learning how to write" experiment continues. 
> 
> All the gratitude goes to my beta supreme @dianakanebooks, who's a real writer and is therefore all things wonderful. 
> 
> I'm your host @mckayundercover and you can find me on Twitter most days, fangirling over Cate Blanchett and wlw stories. 
> 
> Song "Painkillers" by Brian Fallon.

Painkillers

_And we want love like it was a drug,_

_All we wanted was a little relief._

_And every heart I held in between,_

_They were painkillers to me._

The party was a complete and utter bore. She should’ve left half an hour ago. Her mere presence here beyond the regular fifteen minutes surely would raise many eyebrows and she would be questioned tomorrow by Nigel. Hell, she was questioning herself right now. What in the world possessed her? 

A spell. She couldn’t really come up with a better answer, she must be under some kind of spell. One she had been under before. In fact, she had been under this same spell just two weeks ago at the New York Excellence in Journalism Awards. She was just as high strung back then, needing something, perhaps just a little relief from this ailing sensation that was consuming her once again. The stuffy suit on whose arm she attended that shindig certainly couldn’t provide the necessary medication for any of her symptoms. 

As she watched her brown-eyed drug of choice move around the room, smiling angelically at everyone but her, Miranda thought that she must be suffering from some form of masochism. Six months ago, one Andrea Sachs, a Pulitzer Prize winning reporter returned to New York from lengthy sojourns in Africa and the Middle East and Miranda’s whole existence was turned upside down. They ran into each other at the Elle Reception for Women in Publishing and five minutes after exchanging ridiculous banalities and struggling with much hated small talk for the sake of onlookers and curious eyes, they simultaneously excused themselves, obviously uncomfortable in each other’s company. 

They ran into each other again fifteen minutes later, as Miranda used the ladies room on her way out of the reception. Their eyes met in the mirror and after a charged stare-off the room seemed to fill with a very distinctive energy, one of abandon and lust, things coming to a head as Andrea’s hand reached out to lock the door. It was a bit of a blur after that. Miranda distinctively remembered her dress being mangled beyond recognition by greedy rough hands and her thighs being marked by a ravenous mouth. She remembered being boosted on the sink counter and eaten alive, coming twice in a row before she even knew what was happening to her. At this point, her memory was hazy on the details, becoming overwhelmed with sensation, but she knew that she practically pounced on Andrea’s inescapable mouth, licking herself off it greedily afterwards. Just as Miranda had thrust two fingers knuckle deep into the tight, velvety wetness, they were interrupted by the rattling of the door. Springing apart, Andrea hissed in pain as Miranda yanked her fingers out in panic. The girl gave her an accusatory glare and a resounding smack on the ass before hiding in one of the stalls. 

Miranda swanned out of the bathroom in her carefully arranged wrap, still hazy from the orgasms and tried to keep her right hand very close to her face. While pretending to hold up said wrap, she attempted not to be too obvious about inhaling Andrea's delicious scent that still lingered on her fingers. 

She came by the way of the same hand not thirty minutes later, barely crossing the threshold of her own bedroom, with the smell of Andrea now smeared all over her wrap and driving her wild and ravenous yet again. 

Just as she climaxed, her phone chirped and a picture of long, graceful fingers copiously covered with Andrea’s essence appeared. The message read: “You left me to do all the work by myself, Priestly. I accept your marker though. Be ready to pay up at my convenience.”

Well, what was Miranda to do? She was a woman of principle and never welshed on any of her debts, so she had to pay up. She did so to the absolute fullest in three weeks time in the Le Bernardin bathroom. With her dinner party just outside and Andrea’s friends gorging on caviar, she gorged herself on Andrea until the younger woman couldn’t take it anymore. As she got up from her knees and let Andrea clean up her chin and lips, she considered this an entirely successful deliverance on said marker, after all the girl almost slid boneless on her ass against the bathroom wall. Miranda smirked the whole evening. At fifty five, she never felt more alive, than with Andrea smeared all over her face. 

So their paths crossed periodically, no more frequently than once every two or three weeks, and they took each other like medicine, like two long suffering patients, clinging to a lifeline. 

As she sipped her bland champagne and observed the party unfolding in front of her, with her own date making his way from the buffet with two filled plates, Miranda mussed that she had perhaps had her fill of these ridiculous charades. Like useless band-aids on open wounds, these dates of hers were entirely too ostentatious and entirely unnecessary. If she was completely honest with herself she had no idea why she was even going through with these countless circus acts. Moreover, most of these men actually fancied themselves with some kind of a chance to get into her bed after these outings. How many times had she held hearts and balls in the palms of her hands, only to crush the pretenders' ambitions into dirt, telling them she had no intention to invite them upstairs into the sanctuary of her bedroom? 

So why was she doing it? Irv Ravitz was long forgotten and no longer a thorn in her side. The current CEO, a young and progressive chap whom she had wrapped very tightly around her little finger, was completely and utterly in her corner. Her magazine was thriving and her children were ready to start college. So her behaviour of engineering useless dates with various boring stuffy suits from Wall Street was a total mystery to her. Especially since she only started doing so in earnest after her first encounter with Andrea at the Elle reception. Her own behaviour perplexed her. 

Was she subconsciously erecting obstacles in front of Andrea? In front of herself? Did she actually want something more from this young woman, who was obviously marked by the five years reporting about the most abject and horrible armed conflicts, poverty and hunger? Andrea was a risk in more ways than were reflected in her perpetually sad eyes. Andrea who was half her age. Andrea who was very much a woman. Andrea who was more than a painkiller, more than a band-aid. Andrea was either poison or antidote and Miranda couldn’t decide which one. Yet those brown eyes haunted her, how they came to life when doors would close, how they shined with hunger and life when Miranda reached for her. 

Miranda tried to step back and take stock of her own life, perhaps some introspection would provide the necessary answers to her current conundrum. Her life was predictable and she liked it that way. Simple to the point of boredom. Miranda didn’t know how it ended up in such a regimented equation, but if one asked her, her schedule rarely altered from the routine and her days and nights all began and ended in much the same fashion, either dinner with the twins and review of the Book or some reception or other and review of the Book. She was relieved to have it so, she experienced plenty of unpredictability in her profession, plenty of unforeseen and chance things influenced her decisions and the events unfolding there. Too much was inspiration and creativity and none of it could be predicted, arranged in neat rows or streamlined in her calendar. So in her private life, she was a machine, regimented and precise.

Yet here she was, her eyes following the lanky figure in ivory Dior with obvious avarice, because Andrea injected a dose of excitement that went beyond anything Miranda experienced in a long time. She lived on these escapades of theirs. She felt so out of control, so unhinged and untethered in the moments they spent together that she at times scared herself. Scared herself with her need, with her greed, with her desire to be taken by this one person. Nobody else would do.

All her previous relationships, including her marriages, were structured with the same precision her daily life was. If at one time she’d realized that she only had sex with Stephen on Thursdays, it did not surprise her. Him having sex with other women on other days of the week surprised her somewhat, but their marriage was expediently ended and she managed to move on with only minor bruises to her dignity. 

Andrea was a completely different story. Andrea was wild, unstructured and unstructurable. She refused to fit into any category, resisted any conversations and never allowed Miranda to corner her at any party, unless it was in the bathroom or hotel room. Or an elevator. Or a cramped closet. Really any space that had a lockable door ended up witnessing the unequivocally best sex of Miranda’s life. It made her wonder if it was because Andrea was a woman or because the woman was Andrea. 

Since this was her first entanglement with the fair sex, Miranda, who was accustomed to excelling at all things and who was confronted by the utterly impressive excellence and sexual prowess of her new and youthful partner, had thrown herself into doing her research. Her cheeks still burned every time she remembered seeking out and devouring every word of the _Manual of Lesbian Sex_ , while desperately hiding her reading material behind the cover of the Book. She still at times looked at the Book and her breath would catch imagining that anyone could open it and find what the Runway editor was actually avidly reviewing. 

She burned the Manual in her fireplace as soon as she read it, thus was her embarrassment and fear that her daughters would find out the choice literature of their mother. Her internet browser history was scrubbed clean after every evening spent “doing research” which left her insides coiled tightly, her panties wet and her pussy throbbing. But at least she felt like she held her own against the obviously practiced touch that Andrea so expertly bestowed on her. The thought of the number of women Andrea had bestowed and perhaps was still bestowing said touch upon made her aforementioned insides clench with a different emotion altogether. Jealousy burned, painfully, acutely. And so she took these male, tall, dark and handsomely suited painkillers of hers to these ridiculously boring parties, hoping, dreading to see a glimpse of her true medicine, true antidote and feel the blessed relief that nobody but Andrea could provide. 

Still lost in recollection, Miranda finally saw Andrea making her way to what looked like the janitor’s closet and her pulse spiked and her breathing shallowed. Would Andrea go down on her today? She so loved Andrea’s mouth. The insolent smirk on those skilled lips drove her insane. She wanted to wipe it off. She wanted to bite and suck on those lips till they were swollen and so red they were almost bleeding. But more than anything, she wanted those lips wrapped around her clit. She wanted that mouth to devour her, the tongue thrusting in and out of her vagina, the teeth scraping lightly, adding that dose of extra trepidation to the already exciting encounter. 

Or maybe today was the day Andrea would take her from behind? Would turn her roughly around, pressing her against the wall, hike her skirt up, give her ass a couple of resounding slaps for good measure and thrust three fingers knuckle deep into her already wet, already throbbing flesh. And she was wet, so wet. She could feel herself smearing her own juices on her upper thighs with every step, just thinking about all the things Andrea would do to her. 

But as she finished her circuitous route to the janitor’s closet, the young woman was not there. Five minutes later and feeling like a complete and utter fool, Miranda left the room and headed straight for the exit, forgetting all about the suit who surely would find his own way home. She felt humiliated. She felt so insulted and outraged that she wanted to break things. She was so turned on, she was in physical pain, so much that her hands trembled and she wanted to scream. Yet for some idiotic reason, she also felt lonely and abandoned and a little heartbroken and that made her want to cry. Just a little. 

As Roy closed the car door behind her, the door on the other side opened and the chief culprit of the tangle of emotion ravaging her mind slipped in. Andrea shot a mischievous wink at Roy and when he only smiled indulgently at her, the young woman pressed the button and raised the privacy screen.

Miranda was so shocked at what was happening she could only stare. As she finally recovered her composure enough to open her mouth to surely tear into the journalist, her conveniently opened mouth was invaded by a brash and skilled tongue. As her body was enveloped by strong arms and a thigh insinuated itself between hers, she thought there was nothing else she could do but respond to the kiss with one of her own and to entwine her own arms around the long graceful neck and tug this utterly maddening person closer. She’d think of some kind of retribution later. 

“You have to be very very quiet, Miranda. The screen is just a thin piece of plastic. Can you do that?” The husky whisper coupled with the insolent mouth nipping at her neck were sending shivers all the way to her already quivering crotch. “Can you be very quiet as I finger you? As I give you three fingers this time? Stretch you and thrust into you hard? Have you dripping down my wrist while taking me knuckle deep? Can you be very very quiet?” 

This was torture. This was hell. This was heaven and she nodded against those seductive lips and bit the lower one for good measure, because it was right there and why shouldn't she? 

“Biting, Miranda? Tsk, tsk! You don’t still believe you’re in charge here, do you?” The sharp teeth bit down roughly on her nipple through her dress and she almost howled, covering her own mouth with her hand. The long fingers were making quick work of hiking up her dress and pulling aside her sodden underwear. She wanted to protest, to say something, but the cursed fingers were already dipping into her, spreading her essence to her clit and doing something magical to it. So Miranda decided it was far better to save her breath. She’d be coming very soon anyway and since she would need to be quiet, she had other priorities after all. 

“So wet, so ready, so hard and aching and all for me. Aren’t you? Aren’t you so needy for me? For my touch? Were you waiting for me in that closet? Waiting for me to come and fuck you deaf and blind, hard and fast and so sweet it would make you beg for more?” The voice, the mouth, the fingers were her undoing. Miranda thrashed her head side to side trying to deny all the assumptions Andrea was making, but a strong hand grasped her neck, effectively stopping her from protesting. 

”I always fuck you so good, Miranda, don’t I?” the lips curled in that maddening smirk against her bare shoulder before biting just hard enough to leave a mark. Miranda would have to cover it up tomorrow. She’d feel it for days. She’d be wet every time she looked at herself in the mirror.

The hand around her neck squeezed just a little, just enough to provide an illusion of restriction and the three fingers inside her curled sharply towards her front wall, rendering her powerless to the climax that swept her up and took over all her senses. Andrea’s mouth on hers stopped the helpless cry that left her throat and she went limp and pliant in strong arms that were now cradling her gently. 

She came to her senses to tender lips caressing her temple and agile fingers setting right her dress. 

“Your townhouse is just a couple of minutes away, Miranda.” The voice was soothing now, none of the rough huskiness present.

The spell was lifting and the haze of the orgasm dissipating, for some reason leaving her vulnerable instead of satisfied. Andrea tucked a stray lock of hair behind Miranda’s ear and the earlier sensation of wanting to cry returned. She did not know what to say or if she should say anything at all for fear that she simply might dissolve into a sobbing mess. What was happening to her? Since when great sex that resulted in Miranda coming out of her skin made her weepy? 

And then in the same soothing, gentle and a little sad tone, Andrea cut her at the knees.

“I can’t do this dog and pony show anymore, Miranda.” Miranda’s tears that she was desperately keeping at bay just seconds ago actually spilled over and she didn’t even notice them because her sorrow, her loss was suddenly unimaginably big. She couldn’t lose this. Why was this happening? 

Andrea’s cool palms cradled her face, thumbs wiping away the flood of tears that was beyond her control.

“Hush now. I can’t do this ridiculous pretense that I don’t want you or need you or have not been in love with you since I saw you crying in your hotel room in Paris. I wasn’t ready then and you sure as hell weren’t either. But I’m ready now, so if you could stop swanning around with empty suits, I’d like to ask you out. And maybe kiss you at the end of the date, if you behave.”

Like a kaleidoscope being turned the images were changing so quickly, Miranda couldn’t keep up at all. Andrea wasn’t leaving? Andrea wanted to date her? And the audacity to demand that Miranda behave, like some errant schoolgirl! 

Before she could get herself worked up to a real snit, a long graceful finger touched her mouth, effectively changing the course of her thoughts yet again, because she could smell herself on it. She wanted to open her lips and suck it in her mouth, tasting herself. Like Pavlov’s dog, her body turned liquid with want once more. She gave into the want, and as the finger caressed her lips, her tongue reached out to chase it and lick at it and suck on it, Andrea smirked with that insufferable, beloved expression and Miranda thought that perhaps the young woman might have some entitlement to her irresistible arrogance? 

“I will pick you up tomorrow night. I think Marea would do nicely. Be a good girl, Miranda, and we might christen that private bathroom of theirs.” With a quick nip at her bottom lip, Andrea slipped out of the car just as unobtrusively as she got in and Miranda produced a smirk of her own. 

Still tasting herself on her lips and already feeling all the marks Andrea left blooming on her skin, she thought that perhaps she might be done with the band-aids and the painkillers. Perhaps it was time to find some full time relief and the beautiful brown eyes and long skillful fingers had just the thing for that. Plus, Andrea was right, while she wasn’t ready in Paris, she was ready now and a lifetime prescription for her chronic condition of loving this maddening woman sounded just right. 

**Author's Note:**

> Major major thanks to all the wonderful people who read my stories. 
> 
> A small announcement, mostly done to keep myself bound by my own word - I'm embarking on a multi-chapter, full novel size, AU story in this fandom, that I (fingers crossed) will start posting next week. Now that I've announced it, I have no going back on it. So stay tuned for more Andy and Miranda adventures.


End file.
